


Crossroads Inn

by aurorasparrow (moonofmylife88)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-19 10:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7357360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonofmylife88/pseuds/aurorasparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of one-shots, mostly about Gendry and Arya, though I plan on doing some Stark family ones too, especially reunions. These will all take place within GRRM's world, book and/or show, so no modern bits, though I'll divert from canon in some of them, probably most. The significance of the title should be obvious, but it alludes to my belief that, in the books, Gendry is intentionally staying at the last place Arya was seen in Westeros by anyone, so to me, the inn is hope for a Gendrya future.</p><p>****</p><p>“No.” Gendry muttered stubbornly. “There’s no one more-.” He seemed to catch himself, remembering he was talking both to Arya’s father and a lord. A lifetime of submission to lords had followed him into the Red Keep. “What I mean, m’lord, is, for me, there could be no better match. But only if she’ll have me. In truth, no one could deserve your daughter, but-.” He seemed unsure.</p><p>Ned wasn’t sure he’d ever heard the boy talk so much at one time or, indeed, so passionately. “Go on, lad.” He encouraged him softly.</p><p>“I’m willin’ to spend the rest of my life tryin’ to be worthy enough.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prayer

“Joffrey.” The voice paused.

“Cersei.” Another pause.

“The Hound.” And another.

“Meryn Trant.” And another.

“Ilyn Payne.” And another.

“The Mountain.” And another.

“Amory Lorch.” And another.

“Polliver.” And another.

“The Tickler.” And another.

“Raff the Sweetling.”

The pause was longest then, at the end of the prayer.

Gendry rolled over, his narrow cot creaking under his weight. The shadows under his eyes were sunk deep. He hardly slept anymore, but when he did, it was only after he’d repeated the names. Slowly. Like a prayer. Like _she’d_ used to.

He’d memorized each and every one of those names. How could he not have? Night after night, he used to lay there silently and listen as her voice spoke the prayer. She said her prayer every night without fail. At inns. Outdoors, in the middle of the forest or underneath the stars. At Lady Hornwood’s, when she’d snuck out to the forge after the Lady had fallen asleep, to crawl into Gendry’s cot with him. Without fail, nightly, her warm body curled up or curled into him, he heard her speak the prayer.

Gendry hadn’t even realized he’d memorized the names until after she was gone. The first night had been the worst. Not the first night she’d gone missing. He hadn’t even tried sleeping that night. Or the next. Or the next. Not even the next. But he’d tried the night after that. How else could he go on looking for her if he couldn’t keep to the saddle? 

There’d been a fire, and it hadn’t been a cold night, but he’d been colder that night than he could ever remember being before. He couldn’t remember how it felt to sleep without her warmth at his side. The Brotherhood, Harwin mainly, had tried to separate them at first. At night. But _she_ wouldn’t listen. She never did. Afterwards, they didn’t really see the harm in it. It became much more than a habit. It was more like a need, that he hadn’t realized he’d suffered from until she was gone.

It was so quiet too now. Gendry hadn’t realized before how much he’d depended on her perpetual disruptiveness to soothe him to sleep. First, she’d talk to him. About the day. About what they’d do the next day. About Winterfell, sometimes. About her family. Then, she’d burrow into his side, sometimes even beneath his arm, that on the colder of nights - she hadn’t seen the harm in it either. Then, she’d say her prayer. Soon, she’d fall off to sleep, and her soft breathing and low snores would soothe him to sleep. Sometimes he’d wake up at night and her soft growls greeted him like old friends. He’d go make water, come back and curl his body around hers, wrapping an arm soothingly around her to make the growls and fidgeting go away. Sometimes…she’d smile then, all sweetly yet somehow spitefully too, all in her sleep. That helped him sleep sometimes too.

But, without her, he found he couldn’t sleep. At all. Until he’d tried the prayer. The Brotherhood tried talking to him about the Lord of Light. He’d had the Seven before that. Not that he was one for praying. He’d tried that when his mother had been dying. It didn’t work then either. He figured it wouldn’t work now. Not that he hadn’t tried praying to them all, old and new alike. But just like he’d known, the prayers didn’t work. Not to bring _her_ back.

One night, as Gendry lay flat on his back, staring dully up at the dark grey sky, a color he tried not to associate with anything, a voice came unbidden into his head, so clear she might have been laying there next to him. Only, she wasn’t. “Joffrey. Cersei. The Hound…” And so on.

Without thinking, he closed his eyes, opened his lips and slowly repeated the names one by one. The next morning, he’d awoken only to remember that the last thing he could remember before falling asleep was saying the names. After that, he knew that all the other gods could go fall off the Wall for all he cared. He had one god, and her prayer would get him to sleep every night from there on out.

So he said the names every night. One after the other, until he fell into a deep if still uneasy sleep.

Gendry didn’t say _her_ name though. He never did. Not anymore. He’d spent weeks scouring the Riverlands, as far as the Saltpans, shouting that name hoarse. Now he tried not to even think it. Not because he didn’t want to, but because it hurt too much. 

When he slept, though, he couldn’t control where his thoughts went. He didn’t dream often, but when he did, she was always there. Usually she was in trouble. And almost every time, even in his dreams, he was powerless to help her. The dream, or nightmare really, that recurred the most in his sleep was the one of him galloping towards her on his horse, her name desperate on his lips. She was always on a horse just ahead of him, but not alone. The Hound held her captive and carried her away from him. She was always just out of reach and would always eventually disappear completely. Sometimes, he woke from that in a cold sweat, her name perched on the edge of his lips.

There were good dreams too, though. Dreams of laughing and wrestling in a forge. Dreams of traveling on the road side by side with her, talking about everything and nothing. Dreams of hiking through the woods with her. Hunting. Eating. Swimming. In them, she either laughed or scowled, hit him and called him stupid or smiled and called him stubborn. Those dreams, somehow, were worse than the nightmares. He’d always awake then with a smile on his face, forgetting she was gone and had been and probably always would be. Slowly, the grin would fade. The warmth was not there, and neither was she. A few times, when sleep still clung to him, he’d reached a hand out and searched for her, only to come up empty.

Gendry rolled to his side and covered his face with his hands. The prayer wouldn’t work if he said it in conjunction with thinking of _her_. So he had to try and forget and try the prayer again.

“Cersei.”

“Joffrey.”

“The Hound.”

“Meryn Trant.”

“Ilyn Payne.”

“The Mountain.”

“Amory Lorch.”

“Polliver.”

“The Tickler.”

“Raff the Sweet...”

Soft snores replaced the voice, and he slept. Hours later, the Bull shifted in his sleep, a smile blossoming on his face. His lips moved.

“Arya,” he breathed.


	2. Redemption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would be set some time after the end of the war at Winterfell. Jon is King in the North. Sansa, Bran and Arya are all home as well, along with Gendry. I guess Daenerys is Queen and Aegon is the Prince. Just some thoughts I've had, arguments really, about why it would make perfect canon sense for Arya and Gendry to end up together. They really are what could've, should've been, in the form of Robert and Lyanna, what those two would've been if everything had gone right, and so much suffering could have been prevented. Thoughts on these ideas would be nice, especially my portrayal of Jon, Sansa and Bran, none of whom I've ever written a pov from yet...

* * *

 

“Don’t you understand, Sansa?” Bran spoke authoritatively. “This isn’t what Father would have wanted.”

Arya glared fiercely at her sister, in agreement with her brother.

“Of course he would have.” Sansa argued. Tears came easily to her still. “It’s what Mother would have wanted too.”

Arya suddenly spoke fiercely and viciously. “It’s happening all over again! This is what happened in the first place! This is what caused everything! Everything that’s happened to us and everything that hasn’t!”

Sansa only looked at her sister as if she was crazy, as she always did when Arya had an outburst.

But Bran’s eyes were knowing. After all, he was the one who’d told the entire truth to Arya, of everything he’d seen. Sansa was a child still in more ways than Arya.

“Sansa,” he said calmly, and she looked at him, listening. “We can’t force Arya to marry the prince. Father didn’t want this. And if Mother had known everything, she wouldn’t have wanted it either.”

Sansa was confused. “What do you mean, everything?”

Jon looked cautiously at Bran from his place at the head of the table, but inclined his head in assent.

“Sansa,” Bran began carefully. “Father always said Arya was Aunt Lyanna reincarnate.”

“Yes,” she agreed as if unsure what she was agreeing to.

“This war…” Bran said in a tired voice. “It all began the day two sets of parents made their children marry those they did not love.”

Sansa was at a loss for words, not yet comprehending fully.

“My mother wasn’t kidnapped, Sansa.” Jon cut in. “And she wasn’t in love with that boy’s father.” He gestured kindly toward the black-haired man, no longer a boy, who stood looking down at the floor, a sort of anger boiling within his blue eyes, an anger he was as of yet unwilling to share with the rest of them. Instead, his hand was clenched tightly in the hands of the girl who stood fiercely and protectively in front of him glaring up at the rest of them.

“I don’t understand.” Sansa breathed.

“Grandfather made Aunt Lyanna marry a man she did not love. Just as Rhaegar Targaryen was made to marry a woman _he_ did not love. And all the time, they loved each other. That love broke them and their duty and a kingdom all at once.” Bran said solemnly.

There was horror blooming in Sansa’s eyes.

“Father never wished to force any of us into anything,” Jon said sadly. “Arya does not love Aegon, much as _he_ yearns for her.” In front of them, the blacksmith’s hands clenched and re-clenched involuntarily, and his brow furrowed tightly. Arya pulled his hand with hers to her chest, forcing him to stand closer to her.

Sansa stared at them both in wonder.

“Were Father here,” Jon told his sister, “he never would have made Arya marry at all if she didn’t wish it.”

“But-.” Sansa sputtered. She waved at Arya and Gendry. “She can’t-.”

“Sansa,” Bran interrupted her before Arya could. “ _Look_ at them.” He implored his sister. “This is what could have been. This is what _should_ have been.” He gestured at Arya and Gendry, now standing one against the other. “Everything would have been different then.” If you knew what to look for, Arya and Gendry were the very image of Lyanna Stark and Robert Baratheon from years now long past. Bran knew because he’d seen those two together himself.

Sansa stared, trying to see what the rest of them already saw so clearly.

“Good as you are, Gendry,” Bran now spoke directly to the man. “Your father, Robert Baratheon, did not see Aunt Lyanna for who she truly was. He was in love with an idea. He didn’t see the wolf in her, only the lady and only her beauty. He never could have made her happy. But Rhaegar saw. And he didn’t only see. He loved her for it. As he could never love his wife. And Lyanna loved him for that. The way she never could have loved Robert Baratheon.”

Realization was dawning in Sansa’s eyes.

“Here,” Bran continued, talking to Sansa now and gesturing towards Arya. “The roles of the Targaryen and the Baratheon may be reversed, but it happens yet again. Aegon loves the idea of our sister. He worships the memory of Rhaegar and the woman Rhaegar loved so much, he took the world to war. He sees the promise of Rhaegar’s glory and legend in our sister. It’s _that_ he loves, though he loves her for her beauty even more.” The smith’s hands clenched again, but Arya grabbed his arm and wrapped it around her middle, gazing defiantly up at Sansa who only looked dazed. “For that and more, Arya could never love him. She loves another…the man who sees who she _is_ , the man who not only sees the wolf in her but also loves the wolf in her as much as he loves _her_.”

Arya was no longer glaring at her sister. She was imploring her.

“And she loves him for that.” Jon finished for Bran. “In a way she could never love another.”

“We cannot start another war by trying to tell our sister who she must love.” Bran spoke again. “That was grandfather’s mistake with Aunt Lyanna, and it haunted Father to his death.”

“But-.” Sansa’s tone was weaker now and she didn’t try to continue.

Gendry’s brow un-furrowed and his hands unclenched. He took his arm from around Arya’s middle and stepped forward, away from her, toward them. She didn’t stop him.

“My lady,” he addressed Sansa directly. “Everythin’ they say is true. I’ve known your sister since we were both children, when I thought she was a littl’ beggar boy, a littl’ street urchin.” There was affection in his eyes. “I fought for her, and she fought for me. We waged the same war as you, but in a different way. We kept each other alive, from King’s Landing to Harrenhall to the Riverlands. We’ve known each other at our worst. Arry never had to be nothin’ more for me than she ever was. I don’ love her for her House or status or beauty. Since the moment I first truly knew Arry, there was never goin’ to be anyone else in the world for me. There’s nothin’ I wouldn’ do for your sister. I promise I want no titles, no lands, no gold. I ask only that you not take us away from each other.” He looked towards Arya.

Arya stepped forward now, taking the smith’s hand again in her own, if only in defiance. “He’s my _pack_.” She spoke with finality. “Just as much as each one of you.” She looked at Gendry now. “He found me.” Her voice was haunted, and they shared a look full of many things the rest of them could not comprehend because Arya had never shared the full story of the years during which she’d been missing. “He found me, and he brought me back, not just to you, but to myself. I didn’t know who I was, but he found me and he reminded me. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t even be Arya Stark again.” Arya met her sister’s eyes again, firmly trying to establish her point by doing so. “I don’t even care he’s got royal blood in him. I’d love him all the same. He’s not one of those kings or lords or knights from your songs and stories. He’s much, much better.”

Jon looked along the table to Sansa, who returned the look. “This is their redemption.” And Sansa knew her brother spoke of their father and his best friend, Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon. _And_ Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. “We can make things right in our own little way. We can’t change what happened, and we can’t bring back everyone we lost. But we can stop it happening all over again. No more pain. No more violence. Love mayhaps can prevail this once, and a kingdom won’t collapse.”

Sansa sighed, her shoulders slumping in a most unladylike defeat. “It’s not like we could stop you anyway.” She directed that to her sister, who only grinned wolfishly.

Sansa looked at Jon now. “You’ll legitimize him then.” It was a statement, not a question.

Jon stared down at Gendry, who looked stunned. “My lady.” Then he looked at Jon. “Your Grace.” Arya was smiling knowingly now. “That’s more’n I’ve asked of you today.”

“You asked us for our blessing.” Sansa stated regally. “This is it.”

“We don’t want to be a lord and lady.” Arya always had to argue the point.

“Then don’t call each other ‘my lord’ or ‘my lady,’” Sansa snapped with finality, “though everyone else will.”

Arya looked to Gendry who looked at her. She shrugged, and his eyes crinkled. “Just say yes.” She told him.

Gendry smiled slyly. “As m’lady commands.”

“Arya!” Sansa shouted upon seeing her devil of a little sister punch the newly established lord in the chest before turning on her heel and running away. With a small bow of his head to Jon, Sansa and Bran, Gendry sprinted off after her, promises of retribution on his tongue. Sansa put her face in her hands as her brothers laughed loudly and happily. Secretly, behind her palms, Sansa smiled. The sound of laughter graced the halls of Winterfell once more, and considering everything, that was all that Sansa could ask for.


	3. M'lord

A/N: Set after Gendry and Arya get separated thanks to the Hound. I guess it’s AU but we wouldn’t really know since, other than Brienne’s couple of chapters, we don’t really know what Gendry’s been up to. Here, Gendry has been looking for Arya in all the likeliest places. His search has finally made it to the Wall (Jon is the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch).

* * *

 

Gendry was frozen stiff. He’d never been this bloody cold in his entire life. Thankfully, one of the men, a boy really, of the Night’s Watch was starting up a fire in this spare room they’d brought him to. He’d asked to speak with the Stark boy. They’d looked at him strangely.

They’d questioned him, of course. “I bring news from the South,” he tried to sound more authoritative than he felt. “For Ned Stark’s son’s ears only.”

“Bastard son, you mean,” one of the men had snorted unkindly.

Gendry had ignored the chuckles from others that followed. He was used to talk like that. It was strange to know he had at least one thing in common with this brother of Arya’s he’d never met. Suddenly, Gendry felt nervous, something he’d been trying to suppress his entire journey to the Wall. Whatever the circumstances, this was still Arya Stark’s older brother and might not look kindly upon some unknown bastard boy searching out his sister.

Still, Gendry wasn’t sure he’d get the opportunity to meet this Jon Snow just yet. The men had led him to the room and disappeared, stating they’d go fetch the Lord Commander for him to talk to. They’d left the room and shut the door before he could protest. Gendry wasn’t completely disheartened. If anyone here at the Wall other than Jon Snow could help him with his task, the man in charge would be the one to do it.

The boy finished lighting the fighter and stepped out of the room with one last curious look at Gendry.

Gendry stood near the fire and tried warming his hands by rubbing them together swiftly and blowing on them before holding them out towards the fire. He stared into the flames, as he had many times before since his separation from Arya. Still, he saw nothing. If there was such a god as R’hllor, it didn’t speak to the likes of him.

Footsteps from beyond the door broke his focus. He looked away from the flames, still wondering if he looked hard enough, if he could get a glimpse, any clue at all, of where he needed to go to find her.

The muffled sound of men speaking grew louder from the other side of the door, though still he could not make out what they were speaking of.

The door swung open, and Gendry’s eyes widened. A giant wolf, white as snow, with eyes as red as the flames he’d just been staring at, came loping through the doorway. The wolf eyed him almost curiously as it approached. Gendry did not know whether to be afraid. This was no normal wolf, but he’d met its kind before as well. The wolf stopped in front of Gendry, smelling him. Almost as if testing him.

“Ghost.” A man’s voice said warningly from the doorway.

Gendry was too focused on the wolf to look up just yet. He was proud to say his hand did not tremble as he reached his palm out towards the wolf. The wolf’s eyes met Gendry’s before he nuzzled Gendry’s palm with his snout. Then, the wolf circled Gendry and lay before the fire behind Gendry’s feet.

The man standing in the frame of the doorway took a step into the room. Gendry finally looked at him. The thing was…he’d expected it. Why wouldn’t Arya’s brother have similar features? The dark hair. The grey eyes. The blow was still a painful one to take.

Jon Snow’s eyes were clouded with confusion as he looked from the wolf, Ghost it seemed his name was, to Gendry.

“Who are you?” The man wondered aloud. Gendry opened his mouth to speak but then the man was looking over his shoulder. “I’ll speak with him alone.” Snow said before shutting the door behind him.

Then, he was looking expectantly at Gendry once again. Ghost eyed them both warily, and yet somehow also knowingly, from his place by the fire.

“Ghost does not usually take so familiarly to strangers.” The boy spoke firmly, his eyes searching. Or was he a man? He looked to be the same age as Gendry. Were they boys or men? Had they ever been boys? When they had the right to be, they’d already had to act like men, hadn’t they?

“M’lord,” Gendry finally spoke, his voice cracking slightly. He cursed inwardly. He had to speak firmly, or who would listen? But then he didn’t know where to start. Gendry felt Ghost nudge his foot with his nose. He looked down at the direwolf whose head rested on his paws. The wolf looked up earnestly at Gendry.

“My name is Gendry, m’lord.” He started again, meeting the man’s grey eyes, noticing now how much darker they were than his sister’s. “And I’m looking for Lady Arya Stark.”

Jon Snow’s eyes flashed. His voice was cold now when he spoke. “On behalf of who and for what purpose?” There was a threat laced within his words.

Gendry was surprised at the question and wasn’t sure how to answer it, but then…he knew. Of course he knew. It was true. He bowed his head. “On behalf of Arya, only.” He said solemnly.

Snow’s eyes softened, then were muddled with confusion once again. Snow looked down towards the direwolf at Gendry’s feet and seemed to make a decision. He gestured toward the hard-backed chair nearer the fire. “Will you sit and have a cup with me and tell me what you mean?”

Gendry nodded, only now noticing the two cups and pitcher of beer the boy had brought with him when he’d come to light the fire.

They both took a seat, and Jon Snow sighed as he poured a cup for Gendry, then one for himself.

They both drank a few mouthfuls each before one of them spoke again.

“Where do you come from, Gendry…?” A purposeful pause. A question.

Gendry’s eyes searched the other’s face as he spoke. “Waters, m’lord.” A slight crease in the man’s forehead disappeared at the name, but Gendry did not know how to interpret that, so he spoke again. “I’m from King’s Landing.”

The other man sat back. “Waters,” he pondered. He met Gendry’s eyes again. “My name is Jon Snow.” He offered.

“Yes, m’lord.” Gendry agreed.

A strange look came across Jon Snow’s face at Gendry’s words, a familiar look, one Gendry could recall seeing cross Arya’s face when she was trying not to smile. “Call me Jon, please.” The look quickly disappeared as Jon realized what it was they were there to talk about. “How do you know my sister?” Jon’s eyes searched Gendry’s almost pleadingly.

Gendry took a deep breath and dove into the tale, as best he knew it, from King’s Landing to Harrenhall to the Brotherhood. His voice trailed off weakly as he described the last moments he’d seen Arry.

Jon Snow’s face was troubled once again and had paled increasingly as Gendry’s tale went on.

“She killed men in the Riverlands?” Jon’s voice was hoarse.

“Aye,” Gendry confirmed. “We had to m’lord. They woulda killed us too, if we hadn’t gotten away. Arry knows how to use that sword you gave her well.”

Jon gazed at him in surprise, the ghost of a smile plaguing his features. “Needle.” He murmured. “She still has it?”

Gendry shook his head, taking a sip of beer to quench his throat gone dry from all the talking. “The Lannisters took it, m’l- Jon.” Gendry quickly corrected himself, the first name still feeling odd in his mouth. After all, he didn’t know this man the way he’d known the man’s sister.

Jon was pale. “And you marched for how long with no food to Harrenhall?”

Gendry looked only tired. “Maybe a week. It’s a blur, most of it. Arry held up well. I tried to shield her from most of it.” Gendry thought the man looked slightly ill and didn’t want to go into explaining what exactly he meant by ‘most of it,’ which had included rapes, killings and beatings. Gendry had made sure the soldiers didn't take notice of Arry at night when they were doing their rounds looking for someone to rape, and he'd taken some of the beatings meant for her when she couldn't keep her mouth shut during the day.

Jon almost interrupted him in earnest. “And you said she killed more men at Harrenhall?”

Gendry couldn’t help the sad grin that won over his mouth. “With soup, m’lord.”

Jon looked incredulous but shook his head, that ghost of a smile still present. “Of course she did.” He murmured.

Jon’s eyes roamed the room as he thought. “But, as you said, with the Brotherhood, no harm came to her then?”

Gendry’s flinched because he wouldn’t necessarily describe kidnapping as ‘no harm,’ but all the same. “No, m’lord. They were better at taking care of us than we were.”

“They were supposed to deliver my sister to my brother and his mother at Riverrun?” Jon repeated Gendry’s statement from earlier. Gendry took note of the way Jon did not refer to Catelyn Stark, or Lady Stoneheart as he knew her, as his mother.

Gendry watched Jon warily. “Well, yes.” He paused. “But what with all-…Well, with what happened…” Jon’s face had paled once more. “Well, it was a blessing we never made it there-.”

Jon glanced sharply, though not unkindly, at Gendry. “We? You meant to join her?”

Gendry was unsure how to answer and looked away. “Well…” He trailed off, thinking. “Yes, I suppose.” He finished lamely. “In truth, I meant to join the Brotherhood, but I think…Arry would have convinced me to join her brother’s cause once we’d gotten there. I thought I was ready to part ways, but the closer we got, the surer I was I couldn’t....”

Jon was studying Gendry carefully again. “And then, the Hound…”

Gendry’s fingers clenched into a fist at the name. He gnawed his teeth together, the veins at both edges of his forehead showing now. “He took her.” Gendry said bitterly to the girl’s brother, not caring if his emotions at the reality of that showed. “We were riding…Arry rode off a bit…but she usually did. She always came back.” He ended on a desperate note.

Jon watched him. “And you’re certain she wasn’t at the-.” It was Jon’s turn to falter now. “At the Twins.” He finished weakly, his own fists clenching.

Gendry shook his head. “Last we heard of her, she was in the Saltpans, still with the Hound.”

“I-.” Gendry’s voice broke, and he cursed himself again, internally. “I’ve been looking for her ever since.” He told Jon with resolve. “All across the Riverlands, from one end to the other, as best as I could. Then up through the North, again, only as best as I could. Only…” He trailed off. How to explain how difficult it is to find one little girl who didn’t want to be found without spreading out the news that there _was_ a girl to be found to those who should never find her.

“Only,” Gendry continued. “I’m just one bastard from the South. Nothing more…I tried becoming a smith at a few of the Northern towns, just to see what news I could get, but…your Northmen are a hard folk, and not quick to trust.”

Jon nodded, his eyes searching the flames. He seemed, still, unsure what to do with the news. When he failed to speak again, Gendry filled the silence some more.

“I’ve taken residence for the most part at an inn at the crossroads of all four main roads.” Gendry needed this boy, this man to understand that he was doing everything he could. “I’ve been hoping that whichever way she went…” He trailed off again.

Jon Snow finally spoke again and when he did, his voice was hoarse. “It’s likely, or possible, she’ll stop in there.” He supplied.

Gendry just nodded. “And,” he spoke after another long silence, “like I said before, it was the last place anyone saw her…with the Hound.” He finished bitterly.

Jon’s eyes searched Gendry’s face yet again. “Arry,” he murmured.

Gendry’s brow furrowed. “M’lord?” He forgot himself.

“You called her Arry…at some points, just now, when you were speaking.” Jon’s voice wondered now.

Gendry felt himself reddening and wasn’t sure why or, for that matter, how, as despite the warm beer and fire, he was still freezing.

“That’s what she named herself when she was pretending to be a boy, m’lord.” Gendry looked at his feet, then at the wolf who appeared to be sleeping now. Jon’s eyes found the wolf as well.

“He seemed to know you almost.” Jon’s voice wondered some more, but he seemed to know more than he was saying.

Gendry wondered if he should say, but then didn’t see a reason why he shouldn’t.

“Nymeria.” He let the word out, wondering what Jon’s reaction would be.

The wolf’s ears perked up and he lifted his head and gave Gendry a hard stare. Jon looked startled.

“You didn’t mention-.”

“She’s a recent development.” Gendry supplied. “She found me.”

“She found you.” Jon repeated. “How do you know it’s…” But he trailed off as their eyes met. There was no mistaking a wolf for a direwolf. “That’s why it’s as if he knows you.” Jon stared at his own wolf, lost in thought.

Gendry had put off asking the question as long as he could, only because he was so worried he already knew what the answer was.

“M’lord,” he phrased it as a question, but it almost sounded like begging to his own ears. Pathetic, he thought of himself. “You haven’t happened to….you have no news then of Ary-…of Lady Arya…at all?”

Jon’s face sagged, and Gendry’s heart with it. Gendry let his face drop into his hands. He didn’t care anymore that this was _her_ older brother. He’d traveled weeks to get here, hoping beyond hope. This had been his last resort. The wolf leapt to its feet and approached Gendry, resting his nose in Gendry’s lap, whining.

Jon Snow sat forward in his chair and Gendry felt a heavy hand on his back. Gaining his composure, so as not to look any more of a fool, Gendry took a deep breath and looked up at the other man.

Jon still looked strangely sad, but there was also a new resolve to him. “My friend,” His voice was warmer now than it had been during their entire encounter. “You bring hope.” His voice broke a little now too. “Before you, I had no news of Arya at all. Thanks to you, I now know my sister is alive and, judging from what you say, well. We just have to find her.” His face hardened. “We _will_ find her.”

Gendry’s throat still felt raw as he swallowed and nodded. His hand tremored slightly as he raised his cup to drink a gulp of beer if only to soothe himself.

“And,” Jon continued. “You’ve brought me news of Arya, more than I ever could have hoped for. Stories about months of her life beyond the ones I ever thought I’d get to hear about. For that,” Jon stood and put his hand heavily on Gendry’s shoulder now, “you have my eternal thanks. You are welcome to stay as long as you like and welcome to whatever you might need while you’re here or once you need to leave. And you are always welcome to come back. Whatever you ask of me, it will be yours.”

Gendry breathed in relief. As a man of the Night’s Watch, Gendry knew Jon could not come with him, not even to search for his sister. But he was willing to help with what he could. A thought occurred to Gendry, and suddenly he was worried.

“Thank you, m’lord. That means a great deal.” He eyed Jon carefully. “But I was hoping we might keep the part of my tale, about me being bound for the Night’s Watch, a secret. If the Lord Commander found out, I’m afraid he might demand I stay, and I can’t-.” _Stupid bull_ , he heard her voice in his mind. _Can’t even talk right_ , she teased him. His heart beat all the faster at the words, at the memory. “I cannot stay, m’lord. I need only rest a short time, gather more supplies and perhaps some idea of where to search next. But I must leave. I must find her.” He was glad that he managed to finish the statement strongly.

By this time, Jon was looking at Gendry a little warily, and his cheeks had gone a bit pink. “I’m afraid my men didn’t warn you ahead of time then, Gendry. I’m the Lord Commander here.”

Gendry’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry, m’lord. I didn’t mean to offend-.”

“My friend,” Jon emphasized the second word. “If all that you have just told me is true, and if you truly search in earnest for my sister, you are as good as a brother to me, and nothing you say could offend me. Except,” then he smiled, “m’lord. Call me Jon or Snow if you must, but save the titles for my sister.”

Gendry involuntarily chuckled. “She don’t like them much neither.” For the first time since passing through the gates of Castle Black, Gendry felt at ease, as the two shared a laugh about Arya.

“No,” Jon was still smiling as he sat again and took his cup of beer in hand. “No, she doesn’t.”

Ghost now sat on his haunches between them as they spoke, and Gendry reached out a hand cautiously to caress the wolf’s head. Ghost closed his eyes lazily at the touch.

“May I ask you a question, Gendry?”

“Of course, m’-.” Gendry was quick to catch himself this time. “Jon.”

“You say you search for my sister on her behalf.”

Gendry reddened again and hoped Jon didn’t notice. Gendry kept his focus on petting the giant direwolf instead, nodding only slightly at Jon’s words.

“Why?”

Gendry took a deep breath and looked directly at Arya’s brother now, and the familiar grey there comforted him a little.

“I don’t think I ever had a choice.” He answered honestly.

Jon seemed understanding, amused and troubled all at the same time but stayed silent so Gendry could continue speaking if he wished to.

“She’s my-.” Gendry had to be careful here. “She’s my best friend, mayhaps my only friend.” Jon’s eyes spoke of understanding. “All my life,” Gendry found his throat closing again but resolved to keep speaking, “I never really had a place…my mother died when I was very young. I hardly remember her. From there, I was passed from one set of hands to another. I thought I’d finally found some sort of father or uncle figure in my master at King’s Landing, Tobho Mott, but he passed me off soon enough too.” Gendry didn’t want to look at Jon as he spoke. He didn’t want to see pity. Still, it might be easier to look, because then it was nearly close to telling this all to Arya. “Even the Brotherhood were willing to pass me off eventually. Everyone in my life has had some reason or another not to care whether I go or stay, live or die. But…your sister-.” He shook his head now, knowing he’d maintain his composure but not really wanting to. “Your sister was the only one who never gave up on me.”

Jon was watching him carefully now. “Aye.” He agreed with a soft smile. “That’s Arya, alright.”


	4. Worthy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Not sure what universe we’re in here, but let’s assume Robert lived and him and Ned took out the Lannister’s together. Arya had her same adventure North with Yoren and the other Night’s Watch recruits, including Gendry. Let’s say the Brotherhood delivered them back together to King’s Landing and their fathers, where Robert more than happily legitimized his trueborn son. Now they’re all on their way to Winterfell so Ned, Sansa and Arya can reunite with the rest of the Starks. Arya and Gendry are only a couple of years apart, maybe 17 and 15 or so.**

* * *

 

King Robert Baratheon and Lord Eddard Stark watched as their daughter and son, respectively, walked side by side near the river. As usual, the latter was mostly quiet and laughing at something the former, her usually loud self, had just said. Nearby prowled the familiar gray and white direwolf.

Robert’s eyes glistened with tears. “Oh, my friend,” he sighed wistfully. “But this is how it was meant to be.”

As he watched the two, Ned’s eyes looked haunted, as if he’d seen a ghost. And there was more than a hint of sadness in them as well. “They look the very sight of you and-.” His voice broke then, and he had to look away from the sight of the two of them.

Robert agreed with a silent, weepy nod. “Finally,” he choked softly on his words. “Our houses are truly to be joined.”

Ned glanced sharply at his friend and king. “Patience, old friend. That will be up to the two of them.”

Robert scoffed and took ahold of his friend’s elbow so he was faced once again in the young couple’s direction. Ned’s daughter had just pushed Robert’s son into the stream and run away so the ex-apprentice smith had no choice but to run after her. “But they’re so clearly in love.”

Ned wasn’t sure he could deny the truth of the king’s words. “They may grow out of it yet.” He was only being stubborn because he had always thought, out of all his children, he would have the hardest time marrying Arya to someone. Not because no one would want her; she was beautiful like her aunt and just as willful. What man could _not_ love her? Yet, he’d always been so certain Arya would refuse even the prospect of being with someone.

Yet, here she was. Clearly smitten. True, she was as of yet young and may not yet understand her affections. But they were there all the same. She’d struggled for two years in the war-stricken lands of Westeros side-by-side the smith-turned-prince. Now, Gendry was the first person she sought in the mornings at the Red Keep and on their journey North. And Gendry was always the last person she saw before turning up out of nowhere to sleep.

Ned didn’t begrudge her the pairing. The truth was the boy was, despite his humble beginnings, more lordly or princely than any of the princes Ned had known since Rhaegar. Gendry was a fast learner who could now read, write, and recite the history of the Seven Kingdoms, among other talents he’d picked up in the time since Robert had legitimized him. The boy was brave and strong as well and had, if the stories could be believed, saved Arya’s life countless times during the years she’d been missing. Though she’d save Gendry’s life plenty too, Gendry never failed to reminded them.

“If ever there were two more plainly made for each other than these two,” Robert was sighing longingly again. “It was your sister and me.”

Ned disagreed but silently to the latter statement. Outwardly, he only nodded an acknowledgement to his friend. “They’re best friends and one’s just as stubborn as the other,” Ned allowed.

In truth, Robert and Lyanna had been nothing alike. In truth, Robert had never truly known Lyanna, could not ever have understood her. Ned watched as his youngest daughter and the new prince now crossed “swords” (Arya had challenged Gendry to a duel with large sticks from the forest) across the way. This boy, this Gendry, by contrast, seemed to know exactly who Arya was. A wolf. A warrior. A lady only by birth. And still he loved her just the same.

Ned recalled a conversation he’d had with the lad, shortly after his legitimization.

“I won’t make you marry my daughter,” Ned had told the red-faced boy gruffly. “Though it’s what your father desires.”

Gendry had stared at him in surprise then. “Make me?” He repeated the words as a question.

“Now that you’re a prince, boy.” Ned clarified. “Might be you’ll want to find a woman more suited to the title of princess.”

The truth was Ned just wanted to gauge both Gendry’s intentions and thoughts on Arya’s noble status in contrast to her behavior.

The boy grew redder in the face, though this time from anger, it seemed. “No.” He muttered stubbornly. “There’s no one more-.” He seemed to catch himself, remembering he was talking both to Arya’s father and a lord. A lifetime of submission to lords had followed him into the Red Keep. “What I mean, m’lord, is, for me, there could be no better match. But only if she’ll have me. In truth, no one could deserve your daughter, but-.” He seemed unsure.

Ned wasn’t sure he’d ever heard the boy talk so much at one time or, indeed, so passionately. “Go on, lad.” He encouraged him softly.

“I’m willin’ to spend the rest of my life tryin’ to be worthy enough.”

Ned’s throat had gone as dry as a bone then. There would be no refusal on this end of the match. Ned had hoped he could depend on his fiery and fierce daughter to do so, but...

Ned thought then to the conversation with his daughter during which he’d broached the topic.

Earlier that day, Ned had noticed a chaste but intense hug pass between Arya and Gendry. Despite knowing what they’d gone through, it had never crossed Ned’s mind that his little wolf would have ever seen a boy that way. Sansa had always been the one singing the songs.  
At supper that night, Ned had been explaining to both his daughters that, following the catastrophes that had befallen them so far, they didn’t have to marry anyone they didn’t wish to. Sansa had gazed at him gratefully. Her ordeals with the Lannisters had hardened her wishes to ever get married.

Arya, however, had looked curiously up at him. “If you were going to make us get married, who would I have to marry?” She asked in a voice of pure innocence.

Ned blinked in surprise at her. “I wouldn’t, sweet one.” He thought back to the hug from earlier in the day now. “Is there someone you had in mind?” He wondered out loud.

And for the first time in her life in Ned’s presence, Arya actually blushed. “No,” she murmured in the voice she used when she was lying. “I was just wondering.”

Then she blurted, “Is Sansa still to marry the prince, even though it’s a different one?” Her face was still red, but was it in anger now?

Sansa nearly choked on the honey cakes she was nibbling on then. They both looked at her father.

Ned was watching his younger one carefully. “Of course not, little one. Not if she doesn’t want to.”

Arya nearly glared at Sansa then. Sansa blinked in surprise at Arya, but a knowing smile grew on her face. “I just want to go home.” She murmured.

Arya actually looked relieved then.

As the king and his Hand gazed across the fields towards their children, both now laying on the ground next to each other and laughing, Ned realized he’d lost a battle he never thought he’d have to fight. Still, he surmised, as he watched the way Gendry gazed at Arya, as if never had there existed a more perfect person, he could have lost to someone much less worthy.

* * *

 

**Note: So I'm completely obsessed with what Ned's POV would have been toward gendrya. And would have loved to have seen Robert's reaction as well. My sister recommended I write in this same AU from the perspective of others (i.e. Sansa's, Catelyn's, Arya's, Gendry's, etc.) so wondering if anyone else might be interested in that. I just needed a Ned/Robert reaction to this inevitable ship, aka. Ned and Robert ship their kids so hard. Gah!**


End file.
